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POEMS OF PANAMA 

AND OTHER VERSE 

Founded upon Adventures 
in the Wanderings of 
One of Nature'' s Nomads 

BY 
GEORGE WARBURTON LEWIS 




BOSTON 

SHERMAN, FRENCH & COMPANY 

1916 






I 



I i 



Copyright, 1916 
Sherman, French (5r» Company 

JUL 26 1916 
©CI.A437004 



INTRODUCTION 

This little book is apt to remind some of us that 
time flies. Can it be near twenty years back to 
the peaceful^ prosy, self-containing United States 
of the nineties? All the young fellows were read- 
ing Kipling then, and getting the romance of far 
tropical places in their blood, and the wander- 
lust in their feet. If a young fellow had the itch 
for writing, he got the brass band of Kipling in 
his style — or what he hoped was his style. 

Along came the little war with Spain. What a 
brisk, dramatic little war it was ! Not much now- 
adays, true, when war is made by machinery, with 
a card system. But it took the young fellows of 
the nineties away to lands full of color and strange- 
ness, and opened up a new era for them and for us. 
It is good to look back, if you are old enough, and 
remember the spirit of that time. 

George W. Lewis was one of the young fellows 
out in Kansas. He must have read Kipling, for 
the brass band can be heard in his verses. And 
he must have dreamed about the far, strange 
places, for when the chance came he enlisted and 
went away to the tropics, and has been in the 
tropics pretty much ever since. 

First, to the Philippines, in Uncle Sam's khaki, 
where Life and Romance lost no time in introduc- 
ing themselves. Lewis and a fellow rookie 
walked out to see strange Luzon, on a bright Sun- 
day, and heard a smart pop-pop-popping some- 
where over yonder, and the air roundabout became 
full of bees, and presently they woke to the fact 



that this was romance and life — the little brown 
brother out for target practice, and popping at 
them! From there to China, and the Boxer re- 
bellion, fighting shoulder to shoulder with Tommy 
Atkins, the Hindoo, the Jap, the German, the 
Frenchman. Then to the Canal Zone, of Panama, 
where he was a lieutenant of police, and followed 
the little brown wrong-doer into the jungle, there 
to be lost, and famished, and shot; and thereafter 
variously employed around the Golden Caribbean, 
until he became '^ Jefe" (Chief) Lewis, of the 
Insular Police of Porto Rico, a force remarkable 
for what it accomplishes with small numbers. 

This book of verse is a sort of by-product of 
a life full of pictures, people and places. Mr. 
Lewis has had the interest of a boy in everything 
going on around him all the time, and his eye 
and mind are as fresh as when he left the bottoms 
of the Kaw for Manila. Now and again, in 
Luzon trenches, or under Chinese pagodas, or out 
in the Panama jungle, or lying in ambush for a 
Porto Rican firebug, or watching the subtle under- 
currents of Latin-American politics or intrigue, 
there have been people and pictures and places 
that became dominant and demanded expression, 
and he has put them into verse for his own en- 
tertainment, with no thought of publication. Then 
came the idea that perhaps others might find 
something vital in some of these things, at least; 
for thousands of Americans have lived and la- 
bored in the places where they sprang. So here 
is the book. It is a very special book, for special 
people, put out for those who know the author, 
and also for many others who know the amhiente. 

James H. Collins. 



FOREWORD 

I have tried to write to the people 

With my heart in my driven hand; 
I have tried to sing my songs to them 

In a tongue they could understand. 
I have harked to the musical babel 

Of voices that sing in my soul; 
I have listened, oh, how intently! 

To the lilt of paeans that roll, 
That my mind and heart might distinguish 

Through some wonderful inner ear 
The soul's broken measures and discords 

And set the true music out clear. 
If my straining ear has betrayed me. 

And my garnered gold be but clod — 
I shall know, despite that, while gleaning 

I journeyed in Songland with God! 



CONTENTS 

PAGE 

To Panama 1 

Tropic Virus 2 

Reverie from an Isthmian Car Window . . 7 
Evening Soliloquy at Panama .... 9 

The Man-hunt 11 

Maiden of the Chagres 13 

The Keeper of the Light 15 

The Fire Undying .18 

World- WRECK 19 

In Lost Man's Land . 21 

Lines of Least Resistance 23 

The Parting 24 

A Shooting Star 25 

A Memory of Summer . 26 

Leaven of Life 27 

The Pilgrims 28 

For One Exiled 29 

BoRiNQUEN Dawn 30 

Caprice of the Sea 31 

Doughboy Dan 32 

To Costa Rica 34 

Shipmates 35 

The Heights of Hern 37 

The Phantom Troop 38 

To A Withered Flower 40 

Before a Haunted Ruin 41 

To AN Old Sweetheart 42 

In Vain 44 

How We Let the Nicklin In 45 

The Scourge 47 

Charging the Hill 49 

The Wonder-woman 50 

The Dream-woman 52 

The Search by the Sea 53 

My Portion 55 

The Vagrant's Epitaph 56 



TO PANAMA 

Fair Panama, still do I love you 
As ere the Trojan blond man carved your fame 
With steel-tusked mastodons that hulking came 
To crunch and rend your world-old granite 

hills, 
(To cure you of some minor infant ills), 

And flaunt your freeland flag above you. 

Bright maiden, could I but adore you? — 
For always through the merging mists of time 
I see you still as when Dame Fate sublime 
Unrolled her scroll and gave you unto man, 
A crimson, tiny inkling of her plan 

To glorify the land that bore you! 

Proud goddess, the great may implore you, 
Kings lay their crowns in offering at your feet, 
(For each would make his kingdom more com- 
plete!) 
But, child of fate, cleave to the Trojan e'er. 
Though all the crowns in Christendom despair 

Of conquest, callous-kneed, before you. 



[1] 



TROPIC VIRUS 

A BALLAD OF PANAMA 

Oh, the virus of the tropics — how it kills ! 
Oh, the madness in the brain its curse instills! 
Northman, know the potent draught that never 

cloys — 
Know, yet sip ye not the poison that destroys. 
Man may laugh and mock at fate and have his 

fling, 
Though he knows that life is but a little thing — 
Knows that one w^ry step will send him groping, 

blind. 
On a search for Something which no man may 

find. 

It was down in Colon town, then running wild, 
Where the painted Cash street sirens fawned 

and smiled. 
That I first met Wild Bill Ervin — saw him 

tried 
In some hells where surest shots had drawn and 

died: 
Big Bill Ervin, whom the gods had nerved with 

steel. 
Made a tenement of tumult under seal. 
Fired with all the fires volcanic of a soul 
That could slumber, flame to hell-heat, brook 

control ; 
Ervin, whom the wiles of woman made a slave, 

m 



Glad to serve for love, or fight and dare the 

grave — 
Gallant Ervin, who in love knew no retreat 
Save the kind that leaves a red trail down the 

street. 
So came young Bill Ervin here to Panama — 
Hadn't meant to stay, but then a face he saw 
Whelmed his plans and drove him joyously in- 
sane 
When his great heart pumped the hot blood to 

his brain; 
And Wild Bill dreamed love's dream, nor did 

he falter 
When a sweet girl led him, dreaming, to the 

altar. 
She had wind-jammed down from Bocas, on 

a dare. 
And she effervesced with fun, this madcap fair ; 
But a Bocas chap pursued her to Colon. 
Just one man, a gambler, knew him — called 

him " John." 
There was something strangely forceful in this 

man, 
That compelled you as but hypnotism can. 
He announced that he'd come down to " get his 

share," 
And no gambler was his match in " Gamblers' 

Lair." 
And he had his way with women, save a few, 



[3] 



And he won the hate of men, as such chaps do. 
Well, the devil had a nightmare, and was mad, 
So he sought those imps of chance that counsel 

bad 
And conspired to have the gambler meet the 

bride — 
And to woo her and to win her to his side. 
Ervin walked the streets and waited, with a 

gun; 
" Spiggoty " policemen vanished at a run. 
There was wild anticipation of the fray; 
There are those who still remember that great 

day. 
Just at dusk the gambler sauntered down the 

street. 
Careless of the direst fate that man may meet. 
Wild Bill whipped a Colt's revolver from his 

belt. 
But the other knew the man with whom he 

dealt. 
For he shot his hands up quickly, with a smile. 
Whereat we who stood in wonder there the while 
Heard him laugh and drawl : " Just wait a 

minute, pard ; 
All I want's a chance to play the joker card: 
You're about to singe yourself with your own 

fire — 
She's common — run up to Bocas and inquire. 
Just lower away this battery at my snoot 



[4] 



And ask your friends at Bocas before you 

shoot!" 
We who, spellbound, heard that challenge so 

uncouth 
Knew we needn't go to Bocas for the truth; 
So we sprang and caught our hero, as he fell — 
Dropped sheer from his private heaven — into 

hell! 
After that he sought the places least policed. 
Where the halfbreed crooks and cut-throats 

joined in feast; 
And the deadly tropic virus touched his brain 
And a raging tropic madness won domain 
When the passion love had laughed at wandered 

free 
And he did the thing that shames humanity. 
For he roamed the red-lit way where women 

wait 
And took him a turbaned " Patois " for a mate. 
Then he drank a world of whisky, and he died 
With but two or three old comrades by his side, 
While the goddess who to him had been so dear 
Pranced in lewd Cash street cotillons sans a 

tear. 

Over there behind the palms at " Monkey Hill " 
Lies Bill Ervin, Wild Bill Ervin, cold and still. 
Cash street music, ribald shouts and nightly 
din 



[5] 



Float up to him faintly as the trades sweep in. 
And the wind-worn, guardian palm trees sway 

and sigh 
Like gaunt sages, grown too wise, that long to 

die. 



[6] 



REVERIE FROM AN ISTHMIAN 
CAR WINDOW 

ALONG THE PANAMA CANAL IN 1912 

Past glassy pools that mirror back the 
clouds, 
Where wilding lilies flash and disappear. 

Past mammoth cranes of France in rusty 
shrouds — 
Grim ghosts of hope that perished yester year ; 

Past jungle silences that wake again 
When wild things flee our engine's looming 
form — 
Past places where the broken hearts of men 
Lie buried with the hopes that kept them warm ! 
Past side-tracked trains, rust-red, that toil 
no more, 
Inclined like men by misery made drunk ; 

And yonder by the sea's incurving shore 
The rotting funnels of some ships long sunk. 

In these same eerie depths of shadowed wood 
French legions essayed for a dreamed-of goal. 
They tossed the coin of chance in daring 
mood — 
And Fate's fiends chuckled wildly o'er their toll. 
Oh, weary eyes that closed on work of woe. 
Would it were mine to part the veil in twain, 
That thou mightst open on this wondrous 
show 

[7] 



And know thy sacrifice was not in vain ! 

Alas! brave men of France who toiled and 
bled, 
Thou couldst not turn when thou hadst faltered 
long, 
Nor ghosts confront in shrouds of rust and 
dread 
Where fears fantastic led thy feet awrong. 

We found French guide-posts where cadavers 
lay — 
Gaunt skeletons of melancholy steel, 

Like stark and fleshless hands that point a 
way 
And beckon doubting hearts to woe or weal. . . . 
Ah, France, your fallen sons no more bewail ; 
Posterity shall view our work in awe. 

The hearts of hope for whom you blazed the 
trail 
Have reared a monument without a flaw ! 



[8] 



EVENING SOLILOQUY AT PANAMA 

The sun-strewn gold-dust on a west-blown 
cloud 
Is swept from sight as by a magic broom ; 
Day folds tired wings within his twilight 
shroud. 
And yester moment's light is merged in 
gloom. 

Out from the vacant, velvet dome of night. 
As through an azure portal there ajar, 

With twinkling radiance the gods to light. 
Swings forth His Majesty the Evening Star. 

Low down as to illume my native spires. 

The North Star hangs his faintly-glowing 
light. 

How wan thy blessing from these frontier fires ; 
How heavenly thy homeland dower to-night! 

Square-trimmed against the turquoise firma- 
ment. 
The Southern Cross rides like a phantom 
kite. 
Oh, for a stairway to thy low-hung shrine. 
My prim, bejeweled Empress of the Night ! 

Close o'er the mount where bold Balboa went, 
The Giant Dipper lifts his vacant bowl 

That yawns as on a ghastly mission sent 
To swallow up the combination whole. 
[9] 



Some favored seraph's diamond-clustered toy. 
The Little Dipper stares, unwinking, down, 

And bluely clamped above mad Morgan's Buoy, 
Job's Coffin dour bepalls the stellar crown. 

The cricket and the night-bird cease from song, 
A slow wind, moaning, drones up from the 
coast, 

And silence all unseemly and awrong 

Descends upon Night's multi-mannered host. 

A sullen cloud-rack northward flies apace, 
(A message from some groaning ship at 
sea?), 

And as a veil drawn hides a siren's face. 
The Wonder-world of Night is lost to me ! 



[10] 



THE MAN-HUNT 

FOLLOWING THE CANAL ZONE 
BLOODHOUNDS 

I SAT all night by a lonesome trail, 

While shimmered a crescent moon, 
With the jungle roof a silver sea 

In a land of cricket rune. 
I watched through the night with leaping pulse. 

For we guessed he'd pass that way — 
A man, 'twas said, with his hands still red. 

We'd trailed with dogs that day. 

I watched the vanguard of creeping dawn 

Rout many a goblin crew, 
And my low-ebbed courage rose and laughed 

As the imaged things withdrew. 
They slunk like the souls of sinful men 

When God looks out of the East, 
They skulked away in the growing day 

Like felons new-released. 

I sat all night by a lapping stream, 

A molten and moonlit sea, 
Whose swirl had swallowed the scent that led, 

And the brutes howled mournfully. 
But dawn rang wild with a fresh-trod trail 

That threaded a mountain's face. 
And sullen men surged onward again 

And brute-wile set the pace. 

[11] 



On, on toward the heights the whirlwind race 

Rived open the vine-locked way. 
Crashed panting through wildering mazes 

That roofed out the blank white day. 
Grew wan-eyed and tattered the hunters, 

Yet flagged not the pressing chase ; 
And clouds drooped low like a veil of woe 

To hide man's black disgrace. 

A granite crag on the mountain's crest 

Stood out over dizzy space, 
Hung sheer o'er a canyon black as soot — 

Fearsome and horrible place; 
And straight to this aerie of wind-whims. 

Of winds that now loitered to laugh, 
The blood-wild pack kept the trodden track - 

The hangman in behalf. 

A spent, wild thing that had been a man 

Crept out on the granite shelf ; 
Vaguely it pondered what lay beyond 

And oh, how it loathed itself! 
Canyon and chaos spread out below — 

With forgetfulness, sweet and kind. . . . 
Trembly of limb, from the granite rim 

The dogs peered down and whined ! 



[12] 



MAIDEN OF THE CHAGRES 

A SONG OF WOUNDED LOVE IN 
PANAMA JUNGLES 

Softly still the palms are sighing 
In the lazy south sea trades, 

Faintly still a heart is crying 
From the sleepy Chagres glades ; 

Dimly as far echoes winging, 
Dying as but echoes can. 

Still the same wild song comes ringing 
Of a maiden and a man. 

By the dreary Chagres lapping. 
O'er and o'er she croons her lay. 

And her bare foot's rhythmic tapping 
Charms the lizards in their play. 

Untamed creature, wild and winning. 
Jungle flower so wondrous fair. 

Don't you know our world of sinning 
Down beside the Chagres there? 

Oh, of truth what joyous spurning 
By a trusting, simple heart! — 

Hope a-race beyond the turning 
That was vain before the start. 

But the brown foot, weirdly wooing. 
Where the waning flood-tides ran. 

Taps in rhythm with her cooing 
Of a maiden and a man. 

[13] 



Maiden of the Waste, despairing, 
Save your wild young heart its pain ; 

Maybe, down from far worlds faring, 
Maybe — he will come again ! 

Idol of the wasteland winning. 
Nor were goddess of compare. 

Don't you know our world of sinning 
Down beside the Chagres there ? 

Softly still the palms are sighmg 
In the lazy south sea trades. 

Faintly still a heart is crying 
From the sleepy Chagres glades; 

Dimly as far echoes winging. 
Dying as but echoes can, 

Still the same wild song comes ringing 
Of a maiden and a man. 



[U] 



THE KEEPER OF THE LIGHT 

Have you ever listened and held your breath 
When the night was still as the halls of death, 

And a throbbing sea that broke at your door 
Was bringing you memories o'er and o'er — 

Have you listened as I, with each dull throb, 
To catch from the waters a broken sob? — 

A token you knew you never would hear. 
Yet for which you'd listened from year to year ! 

The wreckage of the ship that lost my Love 

I heaped and burned — sweet solace ! — here 

above ; 

And then my life was plunged in utter gloom. 

I went like one condemned who nears his doom. 

I learned a tongue that silence teaches all 
The squeally, squally things that fly or crawl. 
I loved to hear the night-birds' mournful 
psalms. 
And watch the pallid moonlight on the palms. 
Ah! sometimes when the Southern Cross rode 
high 
A tropic moon would light this drooping sky. 
And always then I found myself — how 
vain ! — 
Here seated, half expectant, ears a-strain ; 

But dream-gods beckoned never from the sea. 
And so I put my hopes away from me. 

[15] 



And here alone lived I, but God knows how — 
No pitying angel knew me then as now. 

One night those waters there below broke 
o'er; 
Hell rose on earth in seas that smashed this 
door! 
But hope for me was dead out on the deep, — 
So finally, things secure, I fell asleep. 

I dreamed here in this chair, despite the roar. 
That off the light a ship was on the shore ; 
And when I waked — so help me God, 'tis 
true! — 
There stood an angel, pointing toward the blue. 

I plunged alone into an open boat. 
That only One had power to keep afloat. 

From Neptune's hoary clutch one soul we 
won — 
She wsis a girl, a goddess of the sun, 

So bright was she, and fair, and warm her 
smile ; 
And, weary, ill, she rested here a while. 

Sped many days ere I divined the plan : 
Glad angels, loving as but angels can. 

Had thus implored the Master of the Sea : 
" To him, we pray, give one as bright as we." 

So on an eve of moonlight here above 
I told her of God's planning and my love. 

And when she raised her eyes and looked at 
me 

[16] 



I read in them a message from the sea. 

Her soul, alight with love, shone out, star- 
clear, 
And something touched in me a note of fear. 

For, true as I'd suffered the pain, the cost, 
'Twas she — my own — frojn the Land of the 
Lost! 



[17] 



THE FIRE UNDYING 

Sometimes when memory's dying rose 
Puts out fresh petals in a magic way, 

Then does earth's gray perspective close 
For me; then speaks a voice that seems to say 

All o'er again words fragrant still as flowers ; 
And once again the same dear eyes, 

The laughing lips that mocked my soberer 
hours. 
Conspiring in love's sweet surprise. 

Are near my cheek — alas, now pale ! 
Save when that scented memory returns 

The tragic mind-man to regale 
With e'er-abiding love that glows and burns 

As burns God's own eternal sun on high — 
As love that, only with the soul, can die ! 



[18] 



WORLD-WRECK 

1915-1916 

The bloated, one-eyed god of war 
Had flung his crimson banners far ; 
O'er moor and mart and fertile field. 
That moiling nations might not yield, 
He'd touched the tinder with his brand 
And, e'er responsive to his hand. 
Had sprung ten million, fit and well, 
A-thirst the war-god's bloat to swell. 

Despairing Hope, a-top the world. 

Gazed down on mites that swarmed and swirled. 

For riot, ruin, wreck alert — 

Whose standard was " the bloody shirt." 

The earth within, the earth without. 

Quaked with a turmoil wild of doubt, 

A tempest no man sought to check 

Of world-annihilation, wreck. 

And as the Angel of Despair 
Her pinions drooped in pity there. 
Repellent, dire, appeared the god. 
And Hope saw marked upon the sod 
Where grim the hoofed vandal stood — 
Two cloven tracks dark stained with blood ! 
Then fixing Hope with devilish stare. 
The god his hell-born scheme laid bare. 

[19] 



He pointed to the seething mass, 

Whose sires, long dead, had wooed this pass, 

And hissed with breath of forked flame : 

" Those millions now shall face their shame ; 

They with their lives and by their seed 

Shall pay the price of envy, greed. 

Each suckling babe of yonder ilk 

Shall drink of blood for want of milk ! " 

And as the one-eyed god spoke thus 
Of you and me and all of us, 
Hope saw the millions down below 
Spring eager for the studied blow — 
Saw men all maimed by men's machines. 
Saw legions lost in sickening scenes — 
Man's devastation, Man's desire — 
Spectacle of a world on fire ! 

That man his own, at least, might spare. 
The angel would have asked in prayer, — 
But lo ! Hope stood aloft alone. 
Above earth's vast, embattled zone; 
While down below ten million men 
Surged and recoiled and surged again; 
And nations reeled and nations fell. 
But all still nursed their home-made hell! 



[20] 



IN LOST MAN'S LAND 

Stark stared the waste in the furnace-flare 
Of the sun, as in blank surprise, 

And we prayed for water and gasped for 
breath 
As the fitful phantom of grinning death 

Danced monstrous before our eyes. 

Our brave bell camel, sent back at last, 
Too famished its rider to bear. 

Bore with it the maps of a region vast 
And some scrawled farewells — that would be 
the last ! — 

From three wretches thirsting there. 

And what of the countless fights we'd won. 
Daring the death that stalked us grim? — 

Not fights of folly for glory or ease. 
But fights that had blazed a way, if you 
please — 

Though labored and long and dim. 

But all that our bleeding hands had built. 
And the much that our minds had planned. 

Was crumbling to dust as our bones would 
be — 
As the hopes of those waiting o'er the sea 

A message from Lost Man's Land. 

[21] 



And some day cities would rear their spires 
From this sand that burned to the bone ; 

And there would be water, and who would 
care 
That the bones of an engineer lay there 

As the city's corner-stone? 

Far o'er the unwatered waste one day 
As the vampire sun settled red, 

A lone bell camel with death in its eyes, 
Groaning and falling and struggling to rise. 

Brought back the gift of the dead. 

There were not enough gold in earth, nay. 
Though of gold were the sea-sands bright. 

To dry up the tears of the desert's cost 
Or atone for the still forms lying lost, 

Alone in the desert night. 

But cities rose from the hard-won waste 
That fate dedicated to three. 

And children now romp in the sacred sand 
That is for the founders of Lost Man's Land 

Forever their tomb to be! 



[22] 



LINES OF LEAST RESISTANCE 

TO THE TROPICAL TRAMP 

He followed the lines that resisted least, 

For some virus of hell had touched his brain ; 

He calmed his fears when the struggle had 
ceased, 
Mutely accepting his portion of pain. 

What spell of what siren his soul so cursed? 

What devil's enchantress thus lured him 
on? — 
Nor passion nor penance nor wander-thirst 

Can ever reveal where his soul has gone. 

Damned to the region of torture and tears 
By the grisly phantoms he recked not of. 

And under the night-lights of wasted years 
Has perished forever his power to love. 

O friend of the days that are dear and dead, 
Comrade e'er faithful when strong hearts 
were tried. 
Come back from that Realm of Unreason 
Dread 
And prove that the Goddess of Dreams has 
lied. 



[23] 



THE PARTING 

I WATCHED my mates right proudly march 
To swell the battle-line. 

Then I was " short," " light,'' and the like. 
But now the chance is mine ! 

Ah, yes, I know what going means — 
The trench, the freezing cold; 

Blood on bright blade and bayonet-sheen. 
And rotting back to mold. 

But I'll laugh at poison gas-waves 
That steal up with the dawn. 

If you'll keep on a-loving me. 
Sweetheart, when I am gone. 

I never knew the power of love 
Till you and England free. 

One loving, one in desperate need, 
Stretched forth your arms to me. 

We're off ! — On with the devil's dance ! 
Don't, sweetheart ; please don't cry ; 

Your love and England's will be there — 
Somewhere in France — good-bye ! 



[24] 



A SHOOTING STAR 

Last night I watched a little star, 
Which you and I mayhap had oft surveyed. 
Hurled from its radiant throne 
Through unimagined space 
And plunged into abysmal depths undreamed, 
While in its wake an instant showed 
A pallid, pointing finger 
Across the stellar void. 

What, oh, might mean that wonder-work ef- 
faced ! 
Out into vasty space 
Did I gaze long with troubled eyes 
To where that finger pale 
Had limned the chaos whither now returned 
What had but chaos been ! 



[25] 



A MEMORY OF SUMMER 

You came to me when summer skies were fair ; 
Yet softly bluer were your eyes than they. 

The miracle of dawn was in your hair, 
And sunset's crimson on your arched lips lay. 

As though the Master Hand that them did 
tint 
Had solved the riddle that is in men's hearts, 

And pledged His realm to spare no pains nor 
stint 
Of glory that His wizardry imparts. 

But one brief summer was it mine to know 
And ponder all your marvels ere you went ; 

Then, as each little joy preludes some woe. 
You vanished as a rose that leaves its scent. 

O evanescent flower of misty dreams, 
For me no memory blooms that sweeter seems ! 



[26] 



LEAVEN OF LIFE 

I KNEW her here, ah, such a little while ! 
Yet always I have felt I knew her smile, 
Her ringing laugh, her eyes that worked such 

spells — 
I've always felt I knew them somewhere else. 

Of such a face I would I truth could speak : 

So much it charmed it startled, sooth to tell ; 

So much it had of girl's unguessed technique 

It held me wondering captive in its spell. . . . 

Ah, grifBn days ! — world-old, they seem to me. 

Yet she is here beside me now as then ! 

I stare into the vacant past and she 

Smiles back in token of what might have been. 

She lives, for aye, a memory apart — 

One sweet regret that leavens still my heart. 



[27] 



THE PILGRIMS 

Oh, for a glimpse of the trails we trod 
When our lives were young and our hopes were 
high! 
We roamed with Nature and prayed to God, 
And took our rest on the virgin sod. 
As summer hurried by. 

Ah, the trail was never too long, lad, 
For our hearts were full and our blood would 
sing. 
We dreamed the dreams of the youthful mad 
And thanked our Lord for the health we had — 
For 'twas a joyous thing. 

We left those trails at the summer's wane 
For a home on the heights where Youth comes 
not. 
We passed for aye through the autumn 
lane — 
We would have turned, but alas ! 'twas vain ! — 
And sombre was our lot. 

Now the trails so long disused are lost. 
And the feet they knew have wandered afar ; 
The weeds and waste where the pilgrims 
crossed 
Tell now no tale of the journey's cost — 
Or where those pilgrims are ! 
[28] 



FOR ONE EXILED 

Soft, scentless flowers of tropic vale. 

Blown in the jungle wild, 
Ask of thy mistress in Distant Dale 

A pardon for one exiled. 

Guard thy sweet beauty for her as fair. 

Ravish her eyes as bright; 
Plead for a throne in her gold-brown hair. 

Touch thou her lips — but light. 

Teach thou her wonderful laughing eyes 

Each rare exotic hue, 
Pledge thou the realm of thy alien skies 

On the trust that guides thee true. 

Spare no caress of thy psychic art. 

Win for the doomed reprieve ; 
Turn back thy petals and bare thy heart, 

Wither and take thy leave. 

Gone is my herald from tropic vale. 
Riding a hope flung wild. . . . 

Come has a message from Distant Dale — 
A pardon for one exiled ! 



[29] 



BORINQUEN DAWN 

PORTO RICO 

A FLAME leaps out of the purple east 
When the sleepy-voiced night is declining; 

Then clad in vestments of fete and feast, 
The rejuvenate sun-god is shining. 

Dun clouds lift slow from each verdured hill ; 
Peon armies to market are streaming; 

'Neath coffee-trees lurks night's fragrant 
chiU, 
For the warm crystal daylight is gleaming. 



[30] 



CAPRICE OF THE SEA 

The sea lay trembling like a soul afraid ; 
A great, gaunt bird careened and wheeled in air ; 

Into the sun I watched a far ship fade, 
Then I too, like the sea, was trembling there ! 

A fortnight winged away, and then at last. 
Adrift in lonely ways that seamen shun — 

The splintered, slime-wrapt remnant of a 
mast! 
They sought, alas! but found no trace of One. 

Another day beside the sea I strayed ; 
I walked forlorn and kissed a lock of hair. 

Then on the sand the sun a shadow made — 
The same gaunt specter-bird was hovering there. 

So grim and gray this phantom looked to me 
My hands, a-tremble, dropped the wisp of hair, 

And as a wind-gust gave it to the sea 
The bird soared near and croaked at my 
despair. 

I went and sat where I had dreamed with One. 
Pink sea-shells drifted shoreward with the swell ; 

One, bleached, I chose, as I had often done. 
And lo ! her name was carved upon the shell ! 



[31] 



DOUGHBOY DAN 

Written after a night attack by the insurgents at San 
Fernando, Philippine Islands, when the author was a 
member of Funston's " Fighting Twentieth " Kansas 
Regiment, 

Don't ye hear the trumpets blaring Doughboy 
Dan? 

Out o' bed an' into boots, me fightin' man. 
In that flood o' moonlight shinin' 

There's a million Mausers whinin' — 

Somethin' doin', Doughboy Dan. 

Can't ye see 'em in the moonshine. Doughboy 
Dan — 
Each a patch o' shadow like a picture man? 

Makes ye think they're only playin', 
'Stead o' killin' an' a-slayin' — 
Watch 'em careful. Doughboy Dan. 

Now ye're at 'em, chargin', swearin', Doughboy 
Dan; 
Keep your head an' snap ^em runnin', if ye 
can. 
Gee ! how they do keep a-poppin' — 
Never slackin' nor a-stoppin' — 
Hell ! they've hit ye. Doughboy Dan ! 

Hike ye back to some " first aid " chap, Dough- 
boy Dan — 
None could wind his muslin on a gamer man 
[32] 



But wait — there ain't no use to run ; 

Jes' bring the chaplain, he's the one — 
Ye're a goner. Doughboy Dan! 

Don't ye hear the taps a-playin', Doughboy 
Dan? 

It's the red tape end o' ev'ry fightin' man — 
How sort o' still ye somehow keep ; 

Seems like ye're layin' there asleep. . . . 
Good-night; sleep light, Doughboy Dan. 



[33] 



TO COSTA RICA 

O GALLEON captains, for centuries dead, 
Who guessed the golden way thy conquests led? 

Blest be the dreams this Eldorado won. 
Twice blest the fragrance of this summer sun. 

The blue soft beauty of these kindly skies 
Vies with the glory in the maiden's eyes. 

Who, coffee-gleaning, basket poised on arm, 
Hints at the marvel of her homeland's charm. 

O Costa Rica ! land of dower divine ; 
Graced of the gods thy every plant and vine ; 

Touched by the magic of abundant yields ; 
Sprung from the chaos of embattled fields. 

Whereon now dream-eyed oxen fatly browse. 
Or love's young twain exchange their sacred 
vows. 

Oh, would 'twere fate that I should here 
remain, 
Nor be more favored than yon artless swain. 

Who, goad-stick wielding, guides his oxen on 
Sans dreams of greed or empires lost or won ! 

Alas for hopes that fire our hearts with zeal 
And drive us hence to grope 'twixt woe and 
weal! 

Yet backward on this Eden oft I'll smile. 
Where Fortune pampered me a little while. 



[34] 



SHIPMATES 

Jacky, the Sea Gtdl, an' Cap'n Moran — 
Two little cogs in the great world's plan ! 
The Cap'n ranked gold-dust while Jack rated 

sand — 
The sparklin'est gold-dust that ever was 

panned ; 
An' Jacky lived simply, as deep-seamen can, 
Knowin' one worldly idol — oV Cap'n Moran. 
Thus Damon an' Pythias, after a plan. 
Was Jacky, 'fore-master, an' Cap'n Moran. 

In a fortnight's fog that had grounded her 

twice, 
The Gull rammed her nose in a wedgin' o' ice. 
Where she lay poundin' helpless, her shrieks 

ringin' out 
Like yells from the furnace they preach us 

about. 
Well, nobody knowed how the thing did 

befall — 
The seas was a-drenchin' an' freezin' us all: 
" He's over — the skipper ! " they yelled — but 

stand by ! — 
Jack leaped from the rail as they uttered the 

cry. 

Jacky, the Sea Gull, an' Cap'n Moran — 
Two little cogs in the great world's plan ! 
[S5] 



We laid Jacky peaceful in a cove by the 

Horn — 
His life had been 'tuned to breakers fo'lorn; 
An' the skipper we draped in a casket o' gold. 
To match with his nature so kindly, so bold ; 
An' the battered ship Sea Gully like some tipsy 

man. 
Staggered north — leavin' Jacky an' Cap'n 

Moran. 



[36] 



THE HEIGHTS OF HERN 

A PINK wild flower on the heights of Hern — 
On the dizzy heights of Hern : 

Slave of a whim, of a dryad's whim — 
For love had mastered and maddened him — 

He balanced himself on the crater's rim, 
On the cloud-swept heights of Hern. 

An eagle wondered and watched above, 
While her laugh rang tauntingly. 

For he knew that men-things, mad with love. 
Reck not of poise nor perils thereof. 

Throw caution and care to the winds above, 
On the dizzy heights of Hern. 

A pink wild flower on the heights of Hern 
That lured in a wondrous way, 

And she, to try him and test his worth. 
Flouted his courage with mock and mirth — 

Till tragedy grinned a-top the earth, 
On the bald, bare heights of Hern. 

And that was a hundred years ago. 
Yet the eagle still is there. 

And oft in his dreams he wakes and screams. 
Though no man walks where the rimrock 
gleams, — 

For ghosts now lurk in the sunless seams 
That cleave the heights of Hern. 

[37] 



THE PHANTOM TROOP 

Why scuttles the lizard in sudden affright 
From warring hoof-beats that wake not the 

night ? 
Why cringes the coyote from hostile array. 
To skulk with his kindred, heart-fearful, away ? 
Why dies the cry of the whippoorwill 
In a startled, strange, discordant trill? — 
The ghost troop of horsemen is charging the 

hill! 

There, out of the night where the sage-clusters 

rise. 
As though strangely dropped from the vault of 

the skies, 
With never a slogan nor word of command, 
A white troop of cavalry shadows the sand. 
Grave-faced and grim, of aspect to thrill. 
Gleaming blades drawn, God's awe to instil. 
The phantom troop soundlessly glides up the 

hill. 

Now climbing the slope where its bleached bones 

were found, 
Stark, monumental, jutting out of the ground. 
The troop becomes riderless, crumbles away 
From scathing of foemen unseen in the fray. 
A victory 'twas for mind and will. 
For gods that tradition honors still. 
Whose graves are strewn on a lone, high hill. 

[38] 



When night's luminaries besilver the plain 
The phantom troop faithfully comes e'er again, 
And ever as long as death's siren shall lure 
The spectacle direful shall also endure. 
Few but the coyote and whippoorwill 
Still witness the miracle, know the thrill 
Of that tragedy wild on a lone, high hill. 



[39] 



TO A WITHERED FLOWER 

In a lonely, neglected bower 
Where Romance and Love abide, 

A poor little world-weary flower 
Has committed suicide! 

A creeper, 'neath velvet bloom drooping, 
Half-sadly essaying at mirth. 

Its lily heart broke with the stooping. 
And, with'ring, it vanished from earth. 

Ah, long it had groped, tendriHaded — 
To climb there was nought in that wold. 

So slowly it sickened and faded — 
The world was so callous and cold; 

And finally, weary of living. 
And knowing that perish it must. 

It wound down its own slender body 
And strangled itself in the dust. 

Flower, would I had known thee at morning. 
Than when the gray shadows of Night 

Had cast their black pall without warning 
And hidden thy beauty from sight. 



[40] 



BEFORE A HAUNTED RUIN 

Grim high walls, forlorn and old, 
I love you for the ghosts you hold ; 

Each tendril of your lichened shroud 
Hides some lost soul that cries aloud. 

Upon your time-worn face so gray, 
So mottled by earth's passion play, 

I read your tale of wraiths and bats 
And phantoms gamboling with your rats. 

Grim high walls, forlorn and old, 
I love you for the tales you told 

When, decades flown, your tenants gay — 
Now mouldering where the ghoul-mice play 

Gave ear to your horrific tones 
As in the night-wind wild your moans 

Rose like the wails of Death's banshee — 
To chill the hearts of mine and me. 

Grim high walls, forlorn and drear, 
I love you for the sounds I hear 

When in the silent hours of night 
Men stand aghast in wildest fright. 

As ghosts from out their ancient palls 
Parade your long-deserted halls. 

And grin their ghastly grins to see 
Their haunts have made a friend of me. 



[41] 



TO AN OLD SWEETHEART 

All night I rode through the chilling mists 

By the side of a sad-voiced sea ; 
And oh, how lonely my heart had been 

Had my love not come with me ! 

A lass of my nomad wanderings, 

Who had led me to lands afar. 
Rose up and raced o'er Borinquen hills 

Abreast of my flying car. 

I stretched forth a hand as we sped on, 

But alas ! she was far away. 
Though she threw back a kiss in token 

Of the things she wanted to say. 

And once in the brooding hours ere dawn 

When my heart would have crossed the sea, 

I caught her peering between the palms — 
As jealous as she could be. 

But oh, what a comrade she has been 
Whom I met under tropic skies, 

Who lured me out of the bleak white North 
By the spell of her wondrous eyes ! 

And oh, what solace and cheer was she 

At night on the battle plain. 
When after a day of blood and death 

We guarded the winrowed slain! 
[42] 



So dear, let us ever be comrades, 

Though the stakes bring us gain or loss ; 

Be thou of my fortunes the mistress, 
My sweetheart — the Southern Cross ! 



[43] 



IN VAIN 

Dawn in the heart of the Haytian hills, 
Streamers of gold on the Haytian plain : 

Pageant of splendor that thralls and 
thrills — 
Would all thy beauty were not in vain ! 

Flower-decked carpet on purple hills, 
Aster-plumes nodding on verdant plain. 

Drifts of lily-scent where the wind wills, 
Fragrant wild roses that bloom in vain. 

Indian summer on Haytian hills. 
Low-floating smoke-rack on Haytian plain — 

God save the weak, for the fiend that kills 
Is sating his lust for blood again. 

Rivers of red in the Haytian hills, 
Wild roses crushed by the dead on the plain. . . . 

Glad land that the poet's dreams fulfills — 
Would all thy beauty were not in vain ! 



[44] 



HOW WE LET THE NICKLIN IN 

The key to Gandara was held by the foe, 
Her banks with brown warriors invested, 

And cut off from aid — we'd too long de- 
layed — 
Nieklin's march north was contested. ... 

The comp'ny was cheering; Samar heard the 
din — 
The Seventh was marching to let Nicklin in. 

Gandara's flood raged like a demon possessed ; 
Our bancos forged on through the torrent. 
And now we were creeping 'twixt ambushed 
banks 
Where festered the vermin abhorrent. 

Crash ! burst from lantakas, — strange can- 
non of tin — 
At last we were battling to let Nicklin in. 

It seemed that the thunder rolled low on the 
flood 
And the lightning ran rife o'er the lea. 

That heaven and earth were in league to 
destroy 
And Mars was a-roaring in glee. . . . 

Bolos, scrap-iron and wreckage of tin — 
It seemed that our Nicklin should never get in. 



[45] 



But the night and the fight kept a secret well, 
If they lost us some gallant men, 

For the roar in the dark and the belching 
spark 
A beacon to Nicklin had been. . . . 

Dismantled lantakas, scrap-iron and tin — 
Lukban was beaten and Nicklin was in ! 



[46] 



THE SCOURGE 

Written during the Philippine cholera pestilence. 

To US it all seemed passin' strange 

To see comrades goin' down, 
An' faces turnin' purple 

That had been a healthy brown. 
Each looked at each, dumb, helpless like, 

Knowin' what the Fates had done 
When they laid our cap'n doctor 

Stark and still at Blockhouse One. 

True, another doc. was comin'. 

But he'd cert'n'y lost his way — 
An' a hundred men a-dyin' 

At Daraga by the bay ! 
One there was who cursed the death-sneak, 

Brandin' it with words that scorch — 
Called it all 'twixt earth an' heaven 

That can sear as hell's own torch. 

This was aged Sergeant Brennan — 

He had lived but to despise 
Any form of grim disaster 

That comes sneakin' in disguise. 
But at ev'nin' in the half-light, 

In the bamboo quarters there, 
I heard a murm'rin' sound an' looked — 

01' Brennan, deep in prayer! 

[47] 



Thus we knew the grizzled sergeant, 

Ripe with doughboys^ doubtful lore, 
Had a heart behind his buttons — 

Though we'd questioned it before. 
An' that night I dreamed of angels. 

Made of godless men at bay, 
An' saw at mom a surgeon's ship 

Just anchoring o'er the way ! 



[48] 



CHARGING THE HILL 

'TwAS at our friend Meldonlco's, 
Where the Shining Lights get lit, 

That the Kernel was a-tellin' 
Of the fights that he hed fit. 

He charged a fortressed hill five times, 
And ever it seemed queerer — 

Each time the plucky Kernel charged, 
He got a little nearer! 

The waiter wisely brought more grape, 
And when it ceased its fizzin' 

The Kernel, loaded, waved his chair, 
At last the hill was his'n ! 



[49] 



THE WONDER-WOMAN 

To my lonely Caribe island 
Came a woman, wonder-moman; 

Came a woman out of Smile-land 
That, I thoughty was more than hitman. 

Mind no man could meet or measure, 
Lips that lured while they forbade; 

Eyes that reigning queens would treasure 
Witch's eyes, that drove you mad. 

Athlete, madcap, princess, preacher, 
Whom no mental probe could gauge; 

Queerly paradoxic creature 
Whose anomalies were " the rage." 

Yearned I for her brilliant flashes, 
Gasped I at her play with men ; 

She could walk through death and ashes 
Where their blithest hopes had been. 

But the law of love's equation 
On this shining, shallow ball. 

Flouted my insane persuasion 
And adjusted things for all. 

Once in France I caught her sighing : 
" Oh, if only he were here ! " 

" Here am I," quoth I, replying, 
" I will guard you — have no fear ! " 
[50] 



I said, " Why not hunt a preacher, dearest? " 
Smiling fondly through glad tears, 

" Can't ; " the charmer laughed her queerest ; 
" Fve been married fifteen years! " 



[51] 



THE DREAM-WOMAN 

After all my years of despairing, 
When the colors of life had run gray, 

A woman from distant shores faring 
Invaded my world one day. 

I had hoped but hardly expected 
That Dan Cupid might thus stack the cards - 

Provide for me whom he'd neglected. 
That she and I might be pards. 

And this was my dream-girl — I knew it ; 
She was all that a woman could be. 

I dreamed of her when I could do it 
And she, I knew, dreamed of me. 

One night while the gray world was dozing 
Matters reached an embarrassing pause. 

Bent-kneed, I was fiercely proposing — 
" You're dreaming! " she cried. And I was! 



[52] 



THE SEARCH BY THE SEA 

An application of Poe's unique style, as interpreted 
by the author. 

Down here by the scintillant, sorrowful sea 
I come to commune with a soul that is free — 
Child-soul that is free. 

I watch here, O triumphant, traitorous sea, 
And marvel that ever such monster could be, 
Though friends once were we. 

Give me back, ocean, one lock of brown hair, 
Glad token of soul-love to soothe this despair — 
From her prisoned there. 

Mid shell-ruck and pebbles, O surf of the sea, 
Your fingers are seeking some message for me — 
That much I can see. 

How changeful, how mood-mad this wreck- 
littered shore! 
I never saw seaweed drift in here before — 
No, never before. 

Ah, sea, you've remembered; we used to be 

friends; 
You broke faith, you traitor, but this makes 

amends, 

Yes, this makes amends. 

[53] 



And kneeling, I rob from the lolling sea's lair 
A great, burnished skein of salt-crusted brown 
hair — 

O beautiful hair! 

O clinging, bright-shining entwinement of 

brown — 
Sweet message of love that the sea could not 
drown ! 

Message from Heaven, 
Sorrow to leaven, 
Sent down! 



[54] 



MY PORTION 

I SEEK naught save to win the love of all man- 
kind — 

To know at last that I leave else than gold 
behind, 

To feel, as lulled to sleep by earth's last soft 
refrain, 

That by some act my life was not quite all in 
vain. 

To know that on Hope's tablet here I left some 
message graved. 

To know that I, in all the years, a single soul 
have saved! 



[55] 



THE VAGRANT'S EPITAPH * 

*' Change was his mistress^ chance his counselor, 
Love could not keep him, duty forged no chain ; 
The wide seas and the mountains called to him, 
And gray dawns saw his camp fires in the rain. 

" Dear hands might beckon, aye, but he must go; 
Revel might hold him for a little space. 
But, turning past the laughter and the lamps. 
His eyes must ever catch the luring face. 

** Dear eyes might question, yea, and melt again. 
Sweet lips aquiver, silently implore; 
But ever he must turn his fateful head. 
And hear the other summons at the door. 

** Change was his mistress, chance his counselor. 
The dark firs knew his whistle up the trail ; 
Why tarries he to-day? And yesternight 
Adventure lit her stars without avail." 



* Author unknown. 

[56] 



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